


I Slept With Someone in Hell Bent and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

by godgaypeen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Multi, also WHO is gabriel hooking up with, anyway there's a slight possibility i might not finish this because i suck at finishing stories, aziraphale looks like miles maitland, based on a tweet i saw this morning lmao, battle of the bands au, but fingers crossed haha, crowley looks like peter vincent, i never thought this story out properly, im having way too much fun thinking of crowley with eyeliner, punk!ineffable husbands, right yeah there's probably angst in this, rival bands, yeah i used a fucking fall out boy song title shush, yes battle of the bands is a major factor in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-23 10:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19698637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godgaypeen/pseuds/godgaypeen
Summary: Aziraphale belongs to punk rock band, HEAVENSENT, and he can't quite fit in no matter how hard he tried. Crowley's the lead singer for rival band, Hell Bent, but his bandmates never fucking listen to him, even when he's their best shot in winning Battle of the Bands. They meet during the auditions, and they should hate each other...right?





	1. Chapter 1

Sand was late to band practice. AGAIN.

Normally, tardiness was something the band could sweep under the carpet, no big deal. Gabriel, their lead singer, was constantly coming in 20 minutes late with messed-up hair and marks that were most certainly hickeys on his neck, and no one would bat an eye (okay, Aziraphale found it rather odd that Gabriel was hooking up with one particular person, he usually assumed that Gabriel hated having sex with the same person the same way he hated everyone and everything). Unfortunately for Sand (real name unknown), the members of HEAVENSENT were practically buzzing with tension due to the upcoming Battle of the Bands competition, and every second they waste on waiting for Sand was another moment away from winning the competition and becoming the best fucking band ever. Not that they could stand a chance anyway, not when Gabriel kept hassling bassist and hands-down cutest member of the band, Aziraphale over things that he clearly had no control over.

“What the fuck you mean you don’t know where Sand is? You live on the same fucking street!” Gabriel raised his voice at Aziraphale, who met the taller man’s rage with levelled calm, merely staring the other down.

“You’re the lead singer, why don’t you keep track of your own members instead of running off to suck some poor girl’s face off?” He responded, taking a long drag of his cigarette and raising an eyebrow almost challengingly at Gabriel.

“Leave her out of this, she’s got nothing to do with-”

Just then, the door to the recording studio, owned by Gabriel’s music mogul mother, swung open, and in came Sand, breathless and full of bad news, it seemed. “You will not believe who’s joining Battle of the Bands, it’s fucking horrible!” The bald-by-choice drummer thrust a flyer in Michael’s face, who snatched it from his grasp.

“Who fucking cares about the other bands? If you can’t come to practice on time, we won’t stand a fucking chance!” Gabriel spoke, glaring at Sand, who looked a little afraid of the taller one. Of course, Gabriel was the leader, the one who called all the shots, the one whose opinion always mattered. It didn’t help that he’s also 6’ 1, the son of internationally-famous music legends, and also bossy as fuck. If you’re not a little bit terrified of him, there was something _very_ wrong with you.

“Shit, it’s them.” Michael spoke up, giving the flyer to Gabriel, who merely glanced at it and scoffed.

“Of fucking course! It’s probably Crowley’s genius idea. They steal our fucking bassist, and now they think they can fucking win the competition?” He crumpled the flyer and threw the ball across the room, which landed by Aziraphale’s feet. The bassist bent down to pick the paper up, and smoothed it out, grinning as he read it.

“Hell Bent? I’ve heard of them, they’re pretty good.” He glanced up from the crumpled flyer, his surprised smile slipping as the rest of the band glared at him. “I don’t understand, why do we hate them?”

Michael clicked her tongue in disappointment. “You’re new, you don’t understand the… _history_ between HEAVENSENT and Hell Bent.” Sand nodded at Michael’s words, and not for the first time, Aziraphale felt left out. Sure, he was the newest addition to the band, a year younger than the three of them, and clearly wasn’t as close to anyone in the band as they were with each other, but he wanted to change that. He wanted to fit in. “Beelz was our bassist, we were pretty great-”

“She’s the best fucking bassist we've ever had.” Gabriel interjected, then glancing apologetically at Aziraphale. “Sorry.”

Michael rolled her eyes at the singer. “One day, this rookie band, led by some flashy bastard named Anthony J Crowley, swooped in and stole our lyricist from us.”

“What does the J stand for?” Aziraphale questioned, much to Gabriel’s dismay.

“Jackass, maybe, I don’t fucking care. They also took half of our songs, called themselves Hell Bent, and practically tried to be as punk rock as us.” Gabriel scoffed. “Amateurs, really.”

“Give them a little credit, they did score some sick gigs last year, and they have a shit ton of fans.” Sand mentioned. “It’s probably because of Crowley though, I hear he’s devilishly handsome.” This earned a grunt of disapproval from Gabriel, who decided to cut this discussion short and start practice, moving to grab his mic, which prompted Michael to grab her guitar.

“Good looks can’t give him talent, that’s for sure.” Michael muttered, pointing at Aziraphale’s bass guitar. “C’mon, let’s just practice and forget about those assholes. We’ve got to focus.”

Aziraphale merely nodded, hastily slinging his bass strap over his shoulder as he looked around, his bandmates moving to their positions. To him, Hell Bent didn’t seem to be as horrible as the rest of the band made them out to be, despite the bad blood between both bands. He did hear some of their songs, they have a particular sound that seemed unique to the band, and he might even consider himself a fan of their music. Not that he’d ever confess such to Gabriel or the others. They’d probably throw him out just for listening to their music!

“Count us down, Sand.” Gabriel said, a determined grip on the microphone, as he nods at the band.

“One, two, one, two, three, four-”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippet of lyrics that Crowley sings in this chapter was my own. I'm way too dedicated to this particular AU, I really am out here writing songs for a fanfic. Anyway, I kind of made up the song in my head and it sounds pretty great, so when you read the four (five?) lines of the song, just imagine a cross between Choke by I Don't Know How But They Found Me (IDKHOW) and any of the earlier 2000's songs from All Time Low. 
> 
> If I'm nice enough, I might even put up a video of me singing the little snippet on my twitter (anttennant, yes this is a shameless self-promo).

“Yo, Crowley, love your band, mate.” A guy in his twenties approached the currently brown-haired singer, his breath smelling of alcohol, and it was barely 8pm. Personally, Anthony J Crowley never understood why anyone would get so wasted way too early into the night, but he doesn’t judge. God knows he's done some questionable shit like any other human being. “I hope you guys win this year.”

Not quite inclined to give a proper response, he merely gave the guy a shrug before wading through the crowd to find the rest of the members of his band, Hell Bent. Every couple of steps towards the side of the stage, Crowley’s shoulder was tapped, or the sleeve of his leather jacket tugged at, and he would be forced to interact with a girl who clearly wanted to sleep with him, or a guy who pushed his opinions on the band towards the frankly uncaring singer. Fortunately, he rejoined his group, nodding at Hastur who gave him a bottle of beer, unopened. “Quite the turnout, huh?” The drummer spoke up, surveying the crowd. “How many of them do you reckon came here just for us?”

“A lot of them, judging by how many timez Crowley wuz stopped on the way ‘ere.” Beelz said with their thick accent, to which Crowley looked a little shocked upon hearing them say so. “Don’t flatter yourself, I wuzn’t watching you.”

Crowley was about to reply with a snarky comment when he caught sight of a familiar figure nearby, the tallest one amongst the rest of his group. Mischief ran in his blood, and he wasn’t exactly going to pass up a chance on terrorizing his (least) favourite band in the country, so he found himself approaching the small circle that consisted of the members of HEAVENSENT, Hell Bent’s rival band. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” He exclaimed as a way to announce his arrival, the group turning to look at him. Crowley could’ve sworn he saw Gabriel roll his eyes at the sight of him, and this made him smile even wider. “Didn’t think you guys would make it to the shortlist this year, I guess they let anyone in these days.”

Michael, their non gender-conforming guitarist, scoffed. “We made it based on sheer talent, which is something you lack, unfortunately.” This reply caused Gabriel and the one they called Sand to laugh, clearly amused by Michael’s oh-so-quickfire wit.

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” The (rather talented, despite what others say) singer said smugly, his gaze landing upon someone else in the half-circle that the band had made in front of him. He had been very quiet since Crowley first spoke, and he was quite certain that this man was the cutest person he’d ever seen, even in a dimly-lit place like this. It did not make sense how someone as adorable as he was could be so… well, _punk rock_ , simply put. “When were you going to introduce me to this handsome young man? If I had known someone like him was mixed up with you lot, I would’ve tempted him to join my band as well.” 

The singer didn’t miss the look on Gabriel’s face as he openly toyed with the band, and he certainly noticed the light blush on the cute one’s cheeks as Crowley complimented him. “Like what you did with Beelz? As if. Your sneaky little tricks won’t work on Aziraphale as it did on her.” Sand ( _what the fuck is his real name_ , Crowley wondered) sneered at him.

As if summoned by the mention of their name, Hell Bent’s bassist came over to the group and nudged at him. “We go on in a bit. Stop harassing them.” Beelz informed him, not making eye contact with any of the members of HEAVENSENT. How could they, anyway, when they joined Hell Bent to leave these people behind? “By the way, I go by ‘they’ now, please respect my pronouns.”

“’They’?” Gabriel repeated in confusion. Either he was just shocked, or he’s dumb enough to not know what they/them pronouns were. _I prefer to assume it was the latter_ , Crowley thought to himself.

“It’s good to see you, Beelz.” Michael said, and Crowley swore he detected a bit of sincerity in her voice. Beelz merely nodded before going back to Hastur and Ligur, which was his cue to leave as well.

“See you around.” Crowley said as he walked away from the band, shooting a wink at HEAVENSENT’s literal heaven-sent, Aziraphale, who looked bashfully at his feet in response. He didn’t want to sound too eager or anything, but he could tell he was going to have so much fun with the guy, considering how the poor guy practically melted under his gaze.

-

The host for the night, some semi-famous producer guy from Fueled by Ramen standing in for Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy, tapped on the microphone for attention from the crowd, which honestly did not work at all, even if his one job up there was to introduce the next band onto the stage; Hell Bent. Crowley was glad he didn’t know the man, or else he would be suffering from secondhand embarrassment, thanks to the try-hard host, who thankfully took the smart route and blazed through his introductory lines, his mention of their band name causing an eruption of cheers to swallow up his words. The poor man gave up and retreated to where Crowley and the rest of the band were, which meant it was their turn to get onstage. “Show time.” He murmured.

Hastur went first, the stage hands helping him out with setting up the drum kit; then Ligur and Beelz came forth with their respective guitars, positioning themselves on the left and right sides of the stage, plugging their instruments to their amplifiers. Finally, Crowley took his place at the front and center, accompanied by the deafening screams and cheers from the crowd. Oh, they love Hell Bent, alright.

“How’s everyone doing tonight? Good?” The audience answers with more cheering, which honestly never really made any fucking sense to him, but it gave him the comfort of their (loud) noise factor, an important criteria for the judges to select the winner. “Alright, well, we’re Hell Bent, and we’re gonna make tonight even fucking better for all of you, how does that sound?”

Another round of cheers, along with a few strums of the bass by Beelz, but Crowley wasn’t having it. “I’m gonna need all of you to be real quiet, alright…” He spoke clearly, commanding attention, and the packed venue miraculously quietened down after a couple seconds, minus some of the expected asshats that got louder as the room grew quieter. The steady rhythm of Beelz’s bass line resonated deep within Crowley’s chest, joined by the crash of Hastur’s drums and Ligur’s guitar, an audio sensation that made him feel right where he needed to be. This was his stage, his fucking playground, and damn if he wasn’t going to dominate it like he should. 

_Is she the one you think about at night_  
_When you’re all alone and you just can’t sleep_  
_Is she the one you wanna hold tight_  
_When shit hits the fan and you’ve fallen too deep_  
_Well, baby, you’re all I ever wanted_  
_But it fucking kills me inside when you just can’t see_  
_Oh, you’re my everything_

Crowley, like the little shit he was, smirked and winked at one of the girls from the front row, the aforementioned girl looking like she was about to pass out from being noticed. He knew exactly what he was doing, so why not feed off the crowd’s blatant worship of him?

As he sang the first verse to All I Ever Wanted, he took the microphone from its stand, moving his hips, his arms, his head to the beat of the song; he was in his element now. The vibrations of the bass, the sound of the audience, the lyrics being sung back to him by Hell Bent’s fans… there was nothing stopping him, he was fucking killing it with this song, his band was better than ever, and god, the crowd fucking loved them.

There can’t be anything better than this.

-

Two songs and a cover later, Anthony J Crowley stepped out of the venue for a short cigarette break, the door barely closing behind him as he bumped into a person whose presence was unannounced. “Oh! Sorry, so sorry.” The guy said, taking a step back to give way for Crowley to stand clear from the doorway. It was then he noticed that it was the cute bassist from HEAVENSENT, and this particular realization brought a wide grin to his handsome face.

“Hey, you’re Aziraphale from HEAVENSENT, right?” Crowley asked as a way of greeting the man, who looked surprised that he even knew the other man’s name.

“My given name, yeah.” He spoke, and Crowley wondered how a band like HEAVENSENT ever landed such a _perfect_ specimen like this one right here. The young man was very strange to him; sure, he was not as skinny or as tall as him, and certainly not a massive asshole like Gabriel, but he had a certain kind look in his eyes that made you feel almost… instantly _comfortable_ around him, despite the heavy use of eyeliner, and the black nail polish, somewhat similar to Crowley’s own, his being more chipped at the edges. He couldn’t be bothered to keep his nails looking perfect, anyway. “You were great up there, by the way. A bit too much like Shakira, but that’s alright.”

Crowley’s forehead creased as he tried to figure out what Aziraphale meant by that. “Really, how so?”

“Your hips don’t lie.” This response made him laugh, the other merely smiling at his own joke. The dark-haired singer pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket, putting one between his lips before shaking the pack lightly, an eyebrow quirked at Aziraphale, who took it gratefully.

“Cool name, by the way. What is it, French?” Crowley said, procuring a lighter and proceeding to light his cigarette first, before holding it out for Aziraphale to light his.

“I wish; my parents are more Christianity freaks than linguists. Apparently, Aziraphale is the angel on Apple Tree duty. Clearly, he wasn’t any fucking good at his job.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke out in one long exhale. “What about you, Anthony J Crowley? What does the J stand for?”

Crowley ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, messing it up a little to shake out the sweat from performing. Being the lead singer was tough fucking business, anyway, and tonight was no different. He pulled a face, not quite sure how to answer Aziraphale's question. “It’s just a J, really.”

“Hm. I don’t think I believe you, Anthony ‘Just a J’ Crowley. Does it stand for Janthony, perhaps?” This made the singer choke, letting out a string of coughs before chuckling.

“You’re fucking hilarious, what the hell are you doing with the losers from HEAVENSENT?”

Aziraphale merely shrugged and brought the cigarette closer to his lips. “For the record, I’m the bassist for the losers from HEAVENSENT. I’m a loser by choice.”

“Nah, mate, you’re too fucking hot to be a loser. You know who’s a loser? Fuckin’ Gabriel. Ugh. Hate that guy.” Crowley groaned, then nudging the other man conspiratorially. “How can you stand being in that band with him, he’s such a fucking prick.”

“If this is your way of getting me to spill band secrets, then I’m sorry, it’s not working.” Aziraphale remained tight-lipped, shaking his head with a smile. Crowley rolled his head around dramatically, looking at the bassist with a look that said ‘oh, come ON’. “But he _is_ a prick, that I can agree with.”

That comment brought a smile on Crowley’s wildly attractive features. “Yes, finally, someone who understands!” He yelled that out loudly, causing a couple of other people out smoking to glance disapprovingly at him. “You know, we should hang out sometime.”

“But… we _are_ hanging out.” Aziraphale pointed out.

The singer waved his hand as if to say ‘not what I meant’, shaking his head. “I’m asking you out for drinks, angel, don’t leave me hanging.”

“’Angel’?” The shorter one repeated bemusedly.

“Is that a yes?”

Aziraphale took one last drag of his cigarette before replying. “Sure, why not. The band’s probably looking for me by now though, I gotta go.” He drops the cigarette to the ground before putting it out with the heel of his black Doc Martens. _Expensive taste_ , Crowley took note of that.

“Wait, then how will I contact you?”

Crowley’s question was answered by the sound of the back door being shut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is what you've been waiting for...
> 
> Wait, what? Yall wanted them to fuck? Oh... uh, until I learn how to write proper gay smut, you'll just have to deal with snarky banter and longing glances from these guys.

The members of the band HEAVENSENT were in their jamming studio, anxiously waiting for The Call from the Battle of the Bands representatives, who would be phoning them to inform the band whether or not they made it to the final round of the competition. The Call was obviously a big deal for the band; Gabriel could barely sit still, Michael was pacing the room with a constant frown on her face, while Sand was perched on one of the couches, and Aziraphale… well, Aziraphale was closest to the telephone, staring at it.  
  
“Whose idea was it to put the studio’s phone number in the form instead of Gabriel’s number, anyway?” Aziraphale asked, glancing up at the rest of the band. They had spent the previous thirty minutes agonizing over the lack of incoming calls from Gabriel’s phone, until the singer recalled that the number on the form was not identical to his own, therefore realizing that they were barking up the wrong tree (or staring at the wrong phone, to be precise). “No one ever uses this one-"  
  
The bassist’s words were drowned out by the sudden ringing coming from the telephone, and each member reacted almost instantaneously at the sound, all of them scrambling to pick it up. Aziraphale, being the nearest, reached for it first, but the phone was knocked off the surface by Sand, who clearly overestimated his arm length.  
  
Gabriel, assuming his leader status, snatched the telephone from the ground and answered it, glaring at Aziraphale; for what, he wasn’t quite sure. “Hello? Yeah, this is HEAVENSENT.”  
  
The rest of the band watched as Gabriel nodded a couple of times, repeating the words ‘yeah’ and ‘of course’ in response to the other end, then hanging up with an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, by how Gabriel was reacting, no one could tell if they had made it or not, considering how indifferent he usually looked. Sand told Aziraphale that Gabriel once _yawned_ during sex, but he wasn’t quite keen on believing such a thing (no matter how believable it was).  
  
“Spit it out, Gabriel. Are we in or not?” Michael asked, the three of them looking at the singer in anticipation.  
  
Gabriel merely smiled in reply.

  
-

  
Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure who suggested they celebrate at some shoddy bar called Mooney’s, but it didn’t really matter much once they had a little alcohol in their system. Actually, scratch that; they needed a LOT of alcohol to help them ignore the sticky floor, the odd smell in the air that was like a mixture of beer and sweat, and the rambunctious group of men who genuinely did _not_ know how to speak in a normal volume. The bassist himself wasn’t very interested in drinking himself to oblivion like Sand was, but he took whatever he was offered, whether it was a pint of beer pressed into his hands by an uncharacteristically loud and almost friendly Gabriel or a shot of tequila from a cute guy at the other end of the bar. He wasn’t really Aziraphale’s type, unfortunately, he looked like a serial killer. Not that _anyone_ ever had a serial killer type, anyway, that would be largely disturbing.  
  
After a while, once both Gabriel and Sand got a little too drunk to talk without yelling at each other incoherently, Aziraphale excused himself, smiling awkwardly at Michael before escaping- er, exiting Mooney’s into the cold, crisp night. It was much quieter outside once the doors shut, save for the muffled sounds of drunken men coming from the bar, and he could finally breathe. He wasn’t a big fan of bars where everyone was either piss-drunk or unnecessarily mean, but nightclubs, however… _Hm, next time, I’m suggesting we go to a gay club or something_ , Aziraphale thought to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets before deciding to walk home.  
  
He had barely taken three steps before he heard taunting laughter from the alley next to the bar, and his fight or flight response kicked in, years of getting beat up by drunk homophobic assholes exactly like the ones he was looking at had prepared him for anything. It was then he realized the laughter wasn’t aimed at _him_ ; rather someone else who happened to end up in the alley with the three big and boorish men. Once the poor fellow was punched in the face by the biggest of the three, Aziraphale knew that shit had hit the fan, and instinctively, he called them out, threatening to call the police on them if they continued to beat the poor guy up. At the mention of police, the three men backed away, still laughing as they went back into Mooney’s, clearly unfazed by the fact that they were just assaulting a man mere seconds before. _People like them are the reason women are afraid of leaving the goddamn house_ , he thought angrily to himself.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head in dismay before attending to the man on the ground, said man currently attempting to stand up. “Oh no you don’t, you just got punched in the face, we need to see if your nose is broken.” He said, gently tilting the man’s face towards his to check, taking note of how impressive the dark-haired man’s jawline was, then making a small sound of astonishment as he recognized exactly who it was.  
  
“Mm hey, I know you…” Crowley slurred, a wide grin on his face as he booped Aziraphale in the nose, much to the other man’s surprise. Oh, he was drunk alright. “You’re the cute guy, from…uh…” His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, struggling to remember, and Aziraphale found it unbearably cute how his whole face scrunched up in thought, but he didn’t dare show it. “Oh, you’re from HEAVENSENT! Azira…wh- Azira-something-”  
  
“Aziraphale.”  
  
“Right!” He exclaimed, then wincing in pain, touching his jaw gingerly, looking a little confused as to why he was injured. “Ssssorry, I’m a little shit-faced… Did I get punched in the- in the face?”  
  
“Yeah, you did,” Aziraphale answered, nodding. It was insane how Crowley could be so adorable even when he was essentially too inebriated to function properly. “Why are you getting beat up in alleys, Crowley?” He asked, a hand outstretched. The other man took it and pulled himself up with Aziraphale’s help, him being a little too unsteady on his feet meant excessively leaning against the other man for support. Aziraphale was thankful their surroundings was dimly-lit, or else Crowley would’ve noticed the blush upon his cheeks. Honestly, he _wanted_ Crowley to notice, and he wondered if his priorities were mismanaged (they were).  
  
The other man merely laughed in response, taking one step towards the street, immediately tipping forward in imbalance, pulling Aziraphale down with him like a two-person human domino. The less drunk man was quick enough to sweep the other into his arms to avoid any bodily injuries from falling flat on his face. “Careful now, wouldn’t want to break your pretty face, would we?” Aziraphale murmured quietly, both of them pressed up close against each other.  
  
“Y-You called me ‘pretty’.” Crowley slurred, grinning widely at the thought of having a pretty face. “That’s really nice, thank you, angel.”  
  
This made the young man blush, lowering his gaze in response. “Let’s get you home, shall we?” Aziraphale suggested, the other comically pulling a face at him, which made him laugh. “Look at the state of you! I doubt you even know where you are.”  
  
“False, I know exactly w-where I am; I’m in a… a pretty boy’s armsss, and embarrassing myself but that’s alright, y-you don’t judge.” Crowley slurred, and Aziraphale realized that they were still pressed up against each other, so he quickly moved away, causing the more-drunken one to sway on the spot. “You don’t judge, do you?”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head with a smile, gesturing for them to go. Surprisingly, Crowley followed suit, shuffling along beside him as they made their way onto the street, both not quite sure where they were going. “W-” Crowley tripped on his own feet, hastily playing it off as if nothing happened, but Aziraphale definitely saw and had to stifle a laugh, continuing to walk in no particular direction. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”  
  
“Believe it or not, I was out celebrating with the band.” Crowley made a face, his expression of disbelief rather prominent. “Yes, we’re going to be in the Finals, just like your band.”  
  
The other groaned loudly, pouting like a little child. “Whyyyyyy? I don’t want to m-muh…mercilessly beat HEAVENSENT if you’re gonna be in it!”  
  
Aziraphale nudged him playfully, as an attempt to… well, he wasn’t quite sure why he did that, but Crowley swayed dangerously to one side, as if he was about to topple over at any moment, so once again, he pulled the other back from falling flat on his face. This time, both of them erupted into fits of laughter, unable to contain themselves.  
  
“You have horrible balance, Crowley, why can’t you walk like a normal person?”  
  
Crowley made a swatting motion at Aziraphale, a kind of ‘shut up’ gesture. “Piss off, I’m drunk!”  
  
“Oh, please, I’ve seen you walk sober, you don’t know how to do that either.” Aziraphale teased, causing the other’s mouth to drop open in exaggerated astonishment, a gasp escaping from his suddenly very kissable lips. He quickly looked away, catching sight of a children’s playground not that far off from where they were, an idea forming in his mind. “Hey, race you to the playground?”  
  
“If you have to ask, you’re already two steps behind!” Crowley said as he took off running onto the street with a laugh, Aziraphale following suit. In a short distance race between a very drunk man who could barely stand without support and one who had only a little bit in his system, it was very clear who won the race. Aziraphale was on the seesaw, pushing himself up and down, as he waited for Crowley to catch up, the other turning up with a huge grin on his face, despite losing spectacularly.  
  
“Keep up this optimism when you lose Battle of the Bands next week, alright?” Aziraphale mentioned slyly as Crowley sat on the seesaw, his long legs draped over each side awkwardly, like a two-legged spider.  
  
Crowley pushed himself upwards from the ground, rolling his eyes at the other. “How can you be _sooooo_ sure? I’ve got a better vocal range than Gabriel, and- and we have Hastur! He’s wicked good on the drums, he’s like bigeladededepsshhhpshhh-” Crowley imitated his bandmate, drumming on some imaginary kit, which gave Aziraphale the momentary leverage to quickly kick off the ground, the other plummeting down like a lead balloon. “Oi, my butt!” He glared at the grinning man, rubbing his behind gingerly.  
  
“Please, tell me more about your _amaaaaazing_ band, Anthony Janthony Crowley.” Aziraphale replied in a sickly sweet voice, clasping his hands together with his eyes closed, looking like a Disney princess mid-song for some weird reason. This time, when Crowley used the other’s previous move on him, Aziraphale tumbled off the seesaw entirely, falling backward and landing on his back, the shock making him momentarily confused.  
  
“Oh, fuck!” Crowley exclaimed, scrambling off the seesaw with great difficulty to rush towards Aziraphale’s side, the fallen one giggling at the sight as he propped himself up. “You alright?”  
  
Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the light dizziness he was feeling was from the little amount of alcohol he had, or the fact that he might’ve hit his head, or something else completely, but he found the concept of a very handsome man, with the most impressive jawline he’d ever seen, fussing over him in an empty playground late in the night widely strange, and unlike him to find himself in such a situation. He was largely aware of the fact that Crowley’s face was inches away from his, and he had a hand on the small of his back, and this made him feel subconscious, so he murmured “You’re really beautiful up close.”  
  
“Are you implying that I’m not beautiful any other time?” Crowley asked with a small smile adorning his handsome features.  
  
“You and I both know it’s not true.” Aziraphale spoke, and before he could convince himself out of it with an eight-point Powerpoint presentation on why he should never ever kiss the lead singer of HEAVENSENT’s rival band, he… well, he gently pulled the goddamn lead singer of HEAVENSENT’s rival band closer towards him and gave him the softest, most cautious kiss ever; all hesitant and full of questioning, but tender all the same.  
  
That is until he began to want more, moving to pin the skinny as fuck man to the ground as they continued to kiss.


End file.
